


The Golden Child

by Monstradamus



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monstradamus/pseuds/Monstradamus
Summary: Mike Schmidt is an average teen who finds himself wound up in a decades-old mystery involving a pizza place, a man in a bunny suit, and murderous animatronics. Can he unravel the truth and put a stop to the madness before it's too late? And how does this mystery involve him?
Relationships: Mike Schmidt/OC
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Finally, after several years, I decided to revive this story from the vaults. I started it quite some time ago, and found that it was just lacking. I wanted to pull it to rewrite it, but new projects always kept putting it off and putting it off. Furthermore, one of the reasons this story was pulled was because Pizzaria Simulator came out shortly after I started, and it threw some serious wrenches in my plot. Now, after spending some time back at the drawing board and creating a timeline of events, I am finally ready to try it again. Course, with the new game coming out in 2020, we’ll see what wrenches come with that._
> 
> _So, to begin with, I think it is best to state right off the bat that this story is more in the realm of an AU. It’s not any kind of a specific AU, but rather, it is just a universe in which different decisions were made and different characters fulfilled different roles. When I first got into FNAF, thanks to a review exchange I had with a FNAF writer, I tried researching as much of the story as I could. I poured through forums, and in one of those forums (I don’t remember where), I found a rather interesting theory, one that centered on the figure of Mike Schmidt. Now, to be fair, this theory existed when only the first game was out, and therefore, could not work given everything else out there. Still, it was a theory that intrigued me, and one I wanted to explore further. So, even though I completely agree with the storyline as posited by The Game Theorists, I wanted to explore this one and see what I could do with it. So, definitely be prepared for some surprises._
> 
> _Finally, allow me to say one thing about the book series and the newly released books. One of the things that have made stories like the one told on The Game Theorist channel are possible because of the books. The games tell their own story, with plenty of plot holes and moments which can be up to interpretation. The books help fill those holes, and create a more coherent narrative, but it is one that is so connected, it’s hard to break apart. Therefore, I have chosen not to include the information found in the books as part of this story, simply because in order to make my AU work, I have to fill in the holes presented in the games in my own way to make it work. So, sorry to disappoint, but just know I’m not dismissing the books because I don’t consider them “canon,” but rather, to give myself the free-range I need to tell my story, I need to leave their information out._
> 
> _With all that being said, let’s begin! I do not own FNAF. All characters, stories, and ideas are the work of Scott Cawthon, and I look forward to seeing where he takes the series next!_

_Nov. 4, 1993 ___

____

__

Gloomy weather always made Mike feel down. He hated everything about days like this. That feeling of water splashing on your shoes with each step, knowing that your socks were getting wet inside, the grey skies making everything several degrees cooler without sunshine, the rain pouring down on you without an umbrella… In short, Mike was already starting off the day cold, wet, and irritable.

Still, he picked up the pace as he turned the corner, his wet shoes be damned. Maybe if Miss Fletcher, the secretary, did not see him come in, he could get in without a fuss. The big task would be to see if Mr. Thompson noticed. Nothing got by him. Yet, despite how harsh he could be, Mr. Thompson was Mike’s favorite teacher. He was never fake. He always treated Mike like a normal person. At this particular time, he was not looking forward to being treated normally, not as late as he was.

As he had planned, he entered the building just as Miss Fletcher got up to take some papers to the principal. He was in, and at least he could try and argue that he had always been in the building when Mark and Jenny confronted him about it.

As he approached the classroom, he saw that Mr. Thompson’s back was turned toward the board. So, as quietly as he could, he opened the door and slid into his seat. A few of the other kids had noticed, and a few of them grinned, but no one made a noise. Students still looked out for one another.

“Late again, Mr. Schmidt,” Mr. Thompson said, not even turning around. “Dare I ask what the story is this time?”

Everyone snickered. Now that he was caught, they awaited whatever ridiculous lie he would come up with. He grinned too. True, he was in trouble, but he never missed the opportunity to get a few laughs in.  


He put on his best smile. “So, there I was waiting for the bus. I stopped to tie my shoe, and out of nowhere, this creepy guy comes and starts talkin’. You know, tall, trench coat, totally looks like some sort of sicko. Well, I knew that he was trouble, so I started…”

“You are a gifted storyteller, Mike,” Mr. Thompson said, cutting his elaborate explanation short, “but you are starting to run out of material. The best stories have a grain of truth in them. Let’s start with the fact that you don’t even ride the bus.”

Mike shrugged. “Hey, you asked for a story on the fly. I provided.”

Mr. Thompson tore off the tardy slip. “Indeed.” But then he added quietly, “Though you may want to consider signing up for the bus. It’s more consistent.”

“I’ll sleep on it.”

“Smooth one,” his girlfriend, Joanne said as he got back in his seat.

He shrugged. “I try, but he’s right. The material’s getting stale.”

“You’re starting to become the class bore instead of the class clown,” she said with a laugh.

He grinned back. “Means I’ll have to really pull out all the stops for science.”

“No, you won’t! Mrs. Ellard will kill you if you pull another stunt. I would like to actually hang out with you after school, you know.”

“It’s what you get for dating the school delinquent.”

She turned back to her work and sighed. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way. You really are a smart and funny guy. But I don’t know why you always insist on crossing the line.”

“Keeps things interesting.”

She did not say anything after that, and Mike knew why. He liked her, a lot in fact. But she was the kind of person to always want to psychoanalyze everyone. She always felt like she had to solve everyone’s problems. He did not mind that, at first. After all, that was what drew him to Joanne in the first place. It made her caring. But then, her psychoanalysis started hitting close to home. She really was starting to get at the root of things with him, and it scared him.

Mike only half-listened to Mr. Thompson’s ramblings on the Industrial Revolution. Instead, he took to his usual hobby: doodling in his notes. One thing that could be said of Mike was that he was an imaginative individual. His drawings were always extremely detailed. He preferred monsters: hairy, growling, slobbering creatures with sharp fangs and claws. The teeth were always what he did best. Many of his friends said his creatures looked downright terrifying because of those teeth. Even Mr. Thompson had once told him he could have a future with comic books.

The bell rang, and the kids began to spill into the halls. “So, what was the real reason for being so late?” Joanne asked.

Mike shrugged. “Same as always. I was ready, but Jenny was out cold. I had to walk.”

“Drinking again?” He could already see that worried look on her face. “What about Mark? He couldn’t drive you?”

“He already left for work. Look, it’s no big deal. I’d rather take the sleeping drunk over the angry one like with my last family.”

“You know, you could always spend the night at my house. My parents love having you, and I’m sure the couch is pretty comfortable.”

Mike hated that everyone treated him differently. But what could he do? Everyone had their own preconceived notions when they heard the words “foster child.” Most of his teachers, Mrs. Ellard in particular, already branded him as the “troubled kid” before he even set foot in the class. Well, if that was what they expected, he would give them that, if anything just to spite them. Others, like Joanne, treated him as though he were fragile. They always worried for him, went out of their way to help, and almost never said anything to him about their own issues, afraid it would only make things harder. And still others, like his current family, saw him as a burden: a victim of society’s woes that they had been saddled with. Only Mr. Thompson talked to him like an ordinary person. What Mike would not have given to have everyone be like that. But then, they were not as used to things as he was.

“It’s fine, really. Honestly, this is one of the better situations. They give me my space, but don’t leave me to fend for myself. Look, it may just mean I have to get up earlier and ride with Mark on his way to work.”

“You think he would be okay with that?”

Mike shrugged. “He has to understand it’s about school.”

“I guess,” she said. “He seems awful hard on you, though.”

“It shows he somewhat cares. Look, can we not talk about this? You’re almost making me want to go to science.”

“Fine, but promise me, no detention today.”

“I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

Science was even more boring than usual. Mike could not understand how Mrs. Ellard could take something fun like science and make it so dull. Normally, he enjoyed this kind of stuff. He always liked taking things apart and learning how they worked, and before, he had always had good teachers to encourage those passions. When he started high school, he was expecting something more exciting like mixing chemicals or building robots. This was just painful.

For the past week and a half, they had just been working on balancing equations. Mike could pretty much do this in his sleep. Numbers came easy to him. Still, he worked at a sluggish pace just to make the assignment last. He could not help it if everyone else was still struggling. That was the one thing Mrs. Ellard could not stand. He was a nuisance, but he still always made the grade.

For a while, he was content to goof off, fill in a few problems here or there, and pretty much ignore everyone else. That was when the pain hit.

Mike had been getting intense headaches for as long as he could remember, and that was not too far back. Doctors told him the headaches and the memory loss were the result of the concussion he had suffered in the car wreck that killed his parents. These would happen from time to time, and usually at the most unexpected and inconvenient times. They were short and went as quickly as they came on.

This one was sharp, like a small drill going through his skull. He bent over, rubbing the spot where he felt it most, hoping it was just a quick one. He let out a small moan, which managed to get Joanne’s attention. Her hand lightly touched his. And just as he had predicted, it was gone in a second. He could see the concerned look on his girlfriend’s face. Worse still, he had attracted the attention of Mrs. Ellard.

“Something wrong, Mr. Schmidt?” she asked, her tone clearly suggesting she was on the warpath and not in the mood for him.

He knew not to even try with her. “Nothing,” he said.

“Better not be.”

“You sure you’re good?” Joanne whispered. “You’ve been telling your doctor how often they happen, right?”

He rubbed the top of his head and sat up. “Yeah. God, you’re starting to sound like your mom more each day.”

She shook her head. “I just worry this is happening more often than it should.”

“Doctors keep telling me this is normal. I can’t do much about that.”

“I suppose.”

After school, Joanne offered to walk home with him, despite his protests.

“I really am fine to walk on my own, you know.”

She crossed her arms. “And I’m not allowed to enjoy spending time with my boyfriend?” she said.

“It’s not that. I just don’t want this to be some act you do out of pity.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m doing this because I like hanging out with you. Now, I’ve been thinking about this transportation thing. You’re almost sixteen. Have you thought about your own car?”

Mike laughed. “Now I know you’re crazy. You think Mark would ever dream about getting me a car?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, no, but my older brother has a friend who’s trying to sell an old one. It’s not a bad price. But I mean, you could always get an after school job to help pay for it.”

That got him thinking. “After school job, hm?”

“Yeah. Brittany has a job over at the food court in the mall. And I mean, she’s my best friend and all, but she’s about as intelligent as a box of hair. If they gave her a job, surely we can find something for you.”

“I admire your vote of confidence.”

“You know what I mean. It shouldn’t be too hard to get a little something to help earn the extra cash.”

He thought about it for a moment. “It might not be a bad idea. Jenny always wants an excuse not to have me bothering her, and Mark would see this as a chance for me to learn some responsibility. It’s worth a try.”

She smiled. “Great! Come over to my place Friday night, and we’ll start looking.

* * *

“You find anything?” Mike asked.

He sat across from Joanne on her bedroom floor. This way, the two of them had plenty of space to spread out as they poured through the want ads in the newspaper.

“Nothing on this page,” she said, her glasses sliding down her nose as she read. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “Nah, either ads looking for truck drivers or other full-time stuff. What happened to the mall idea?”

“I talked to Brittany. She said they don’t have any openings at the moment. Most of the teens already got jobs there at the beginning of the year.”

“Just great,” Mike mumbled, grabbing another page. He paused before adding, “Still, thanks for trying. I know I haven’t been too pleasant to be around lately.”

She nudged his leg with her foot. “We’ll find something.”

He went back to reading. “Hey, this might be something,” he said after a while. “This pizza place is looking for a night guard.”

Joanne looked up from her own paper, eyebrows raised. “Okay… two problems with that. One, I’m pretty sure they don’t just let kids be night guards. And two, exactly when do you think you’ll have time for homework or sleeping with a job like that?”

“It says no experience necessary. Training is provided. Plus, it’s only a six-hour shift that starts at midnight. I sleep a little when I get home from school, go to work, probably do nothing but sit, and I do my homework then. I don’t see a problem.”

She still did not seem convinced. “Right… So, where is this place?”

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza,” he said. “Sounds easy. I mean, who the hell robs a kid’s pizza place?”

Joanne laughed. “Probably someone after arcade quarters. I kind of remember that place. I only ever went once as a kid. I thought it shut down though?”

“I sort of remember that,” he said. “Must’ve reopened or something.”

“I guess you can find out if they interview you.”

“Yeah…”

Mike did not want to worry Joanne too much, but somehow the name of that place gave him an odd feeling. It was not a feeling he could explain. Familiar? He did not remember ever going to Freddy Fazbear’s, but maybe he had years ago. It was a popular place, he assumed. But why did this feeling also fill him with dread?


	2. Chapter 2

_April 5, 1975_

“Are you going to discuss the injury to your hand?”

Dr. Sanderson clicked her pen in anticipation as she waited for a response. Despite all the help she had given him over the years, he always hated the way she seemed to latch onto everything he said. He supposed that was part of the job, but it always made him anxious. He refused to look at her. Instead, he focused on the clock in her office.

“Not answering doesn’t make the time go any faster,” she said, seeming to read his thoughts. “If you chose not to speak during your session, that is entirely up to you, but you have made so much progress. I’d hate to see it wasted. Lately, you haven’t been yourself, and I’m worried it might be the latest stress at work.”

“It’s those stupid robots,” he said, his hands clenching into fists. He winced as the movement disturbed the cuts on his knuckles under the bandages. “They’re changing everything. They closed down the old restaurant, you know? One minute, Fredbear’s Family Diner buys a few of the damn things, the next thing you know, they get bought out by some corporation, shut down, and reopen as some new, fancy kids’ party place. And it’s not just the robots. They’ve got all these new, flashy video games now. It isn’t even a place for families anymore! Now, it’s just kids, birthdays, and trying to capitalize on it. It’s just disgusting.

“And that’s not the worst of it. Now, they’ve brought in these new robot suits. They can be an animatronic one minute, turn a few cranks, and then it’s a suit for entertainers to wear.”

Dr. Sanderson began writing a few notes. “That’s a good thing though, isn’t it? That means they’re trying to work with you, ensure you still have your job. You were worried about that.”

He shook his head. “It’s only temporary,” he said. “It’s just to put us at ease and make us think that. But watch, eventually the whole operation will be run by machines. Cooking the pizzas, cleaning, entertaining… That’s where this world is going, you know, all these machines. What do they think people are going to do for work?”

Dr. Sanderson let her pen come to rest on the arm of her chair, a clear sign she had heard enough. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s talk about here and now. Has something changed at work? You mentioned the new animatronics that could be used as suits. Is that something they’re making you use?”

His fingers dug deeper into the leather chair. The mere mention of those new suits still made him uneasy. “Yes. They took away the old mascot, cloth suits. Now, we have to wear those. It’s how I cut up my hand. I punched one of them. Turns out there’s a lot of metal parts in ‘em.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I was angry,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I wanted something to take out that anger on. At least it wasn’t a person. You told me, doc. You told me to express myself without hurting people.”

“Yes, but punching a robot and hurting yourself is not a healthy outlet. She sat up, the leather squeaking. “Why did it make you angry?”

He thought that was a pretty stupid question. “I already told you; these robots are taking our jobs. I may not have one. Of course, I’m pissed!”

For several seconds, all either of them could hear was the ticking of the clock. When Dr. Sanderson did that, he knew it meant she was going to bring up things he did not want to hear.

“I have a feeling,” she said at last, “that it’s not so much about the new technology, but rather the suit they took away from you. When you first told me about this new job, it was a step in the right direction. I had never seen you so excited. You described your job as being ‘like a superhero who made the world better by making children happy.’ That’s quite a job description for someone entertaining children in a fake rabbit outfit. Not many people would see that kind of job with such optimism.

“I think that the replacement of that suit with another modern one makes you feel as though you’re losing that part of your identity. But try thinking about it this way. It’s just upgrading your new persona.”

His teeth began to grind. “It means I’ll lose my job in the long-run.”

She sighed. “Tell me something, what was it about that suit that you liked? What did it represent to you?”

“I don’t know. It was friendly, you know? It had this big smile on it that makes people feel welcome. It just… it looks like someone who could be a friend. When I wear it, I’m not some angry young man kids are afraid of. I’m someone they like, that they smile to see. And that makes me smile, you know? I can make any kid, no matter how miserable they feel, smile.”

“You give them the happy childhood you never had,” Dr. Sanderson finished. “Isn’t that what this is really about?”

He chuckled. “I knew you would get to that part, doc. You always do.”

She began to shuffle through his file. “Because it is a key component of understanding your behavioral disorder. The jealousy you harbored toward your step-brother, mixed with his death at a very young age, and what your father did to you both, it’s a lot for a kid. And you feel left out of your own childhood. You never had a chance to just be a kid. And that child in you is calling for help. That suit represents the friend and protector you wish you had growing up. Losing that is a big deal.”

He looked away, not wanting to go back to that. “What happened to ‘punching a robot is not a healthy outlet for your anger?’”

She put down her papers. “It’s okay to be angry at the situation. I’m only saying to find a better outlet for it. The world isn’t out to get you. That’s what we’re working on: to see the good in the world and not bottle up our emotions and fears about it.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Give the new suit a try,” she said. “You might like it. After all, technology is doing some amazing things. From what you’ve described about these animatronics, they could do some amazing things. Maybe you’ll find it will make your character more expressive.”

“It looks scary to kids. All those teeth? It doesn’t look friendly at all.”

She closed her notes, sighing. “I’m asking you to try,” she said. “I’m pretty sure your new boss isn’t going to be giving you a choice. You’ll just have to make do with what has been given to you.”

He started to stand up, knowing his time was up. “Story of my life, eh doc?”

“We’re working through it. Remember what I said: The world isn’t always conspiring against you. Sometimes inconveniences happen and we have to work through them.”

He did not seem to be listening. “At this rate, I had better get to learning how to fix all the parts in those robots. That’s all us humans will end up good for: fixing the machines that took our jobs.”

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone becoming firm. “I don’t want to have to hear about an incident at work. You need to find a way to handle this change.”

He took a deep breath and put on his best smile. “I’ll try.”

She watched him leave, apprehension creeping up. She always worried about her patients, some more than others…

* * *

His hands seemed to shake during his entire drive back home. A part of his brain wanted to listen to Dr. Sanderson, but the other part was too mad to think straight. He knew these would be the kind of answers he would get from her, but it did not help. How could they just replace him? How could they just replace that beloved character with something so ugly and overbearing? What kid would want to hug a stiff, metal-filled rabbit without a grin? He was Bonnie the Bunny, and they had ruined the character!

Oh sure, he was not the only one that had been treated like this. Freadbear was the main mascot of the diner. But Evan, the guy who played the part, did not like his job. Hell, he hated kids. He did not care what Evan thought. Evan probably did not give two shits what costume he wore so long as he got paid. What did it matter to him that he was no longer Fredbear, but now Freddy Fazbear, a new name they came up with to give the new corporation a catchy name? The corporate bastards!

This alone would have driven him insane, but he had one thing to help keep his cool, one item that could keep him from completely losing it. He looked over to the box sitting in the passenger seat, one yellow-brown, floppy ear hanging out of the edge. They were no longer going to use those old suits anyway. They would not miss it.

When he got to his apartment, he hauled the heavy mascot suit in and pulled it out to examine. There were a few stitchings around the arm that needed fixing, but he could repair it. It was definitely an old and worn suit. The inside still smelled of old sweat and was darn near nauseating, but he had it, and nothing could stop him now.

When he had first been hired at the diner as an 18-year-old nobody trying to make it on his own, he really was at a low place in his life. He was finally legally free of his dad and step-mom. But, he had no way to make a living, and all his recent actions at and outside of school had landed him sessions with Dr. Sanderson in the first place. Nonetheless, he took this opening when it popped up. At first, he thought he would just be waiting tables, and he did for the first few weeks.

The diner had always had Fredbear as their mascot. Once a month, the servers all drew straws to decide who had to wear the heavy, smelly suit for a meet-and-greet with the kids. He rather liked it and found he was a pretty good entertainer in it. The owner and his wife thought so too.

One Easter, Mrs. Wilson, the owner’s wife, ahd stitched up a new costume, an Easter Bunny for the kids to meet. She had made the suit just for him. Somehow, she knew that wearing the costume made him feel special. “You’re good with the little ones,” she had said. “Not many people have a gift for making children smile.”

It was not a very special suit. It was yellow with a purple vest and bowtie, the same yellow and purple colors of the restaurant’s color scheme. It was clearly very handmade, the stitches easily seen on the arms and legs. The eyes were a little too wide, but cute. All the same, he loved it. Mrs. Wilson was the only one who knew he was seeing a therapist and had a troubled childhood. He could never thank her enough for that special gift.

And that was how he had helped create Bonnie the Bunny, a character he loved playing. After Easter, the idea had gone over so well that he had been moved to be a regular entertainer in the Diner with that suit, along with Evan being saddled with Fredbear. For about a year and a half, he was happy, actually glad to get up in the mornings.

But that all changed with the arrival of the new animatronics. They were big, ugly, and just so… lifeless, he thought. They had butchered Fredbear and Bonnie, turning them into Freddy and that god-awful, purple thing they pretended was Bonnie. And why did they need two more characters like the chicken and the fox? The fox was a pirate? Why the hell did they do that? Nothing in the diner’s theme screamed pirate.

That was the beginning of the end. Shortly after, the Wilsons died, and their son sold the business to a new corporation, one partly owned by the same company that made the animatronics. They named themselves Fazbear Entertainment, after the Freddy Fazbear character, shut down the diner, and reopened as a strictly pizza place, geared towards children. They kept the animatronic characters and rehired the old staff, including him. But then they brought in those cursed hybrid suits that he now had to wear.

Well, not this time. He would not let himself be bested by this company. He would not let the true spirit of Bonnie the Bunny die, not when the Wilsons had been the parents he never had.

He slipped on the old suit and admired it in the mirror. At least, here on his own, his good memories did not have to die. What harm could it do so long as he kept the suit at home for his own amusement?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _One of the big reasons I wanted to redo this story was to really work on providing more backstory for the characters. The original version was too heavily tied to the action of the games._
> 
> _Much as I love the Game Theory videos on FNAF, one thing has never been solved regarding the murderer himself: motive. I know with Pizzaria Simulator, the notion of "remnant energy" did help fill in some of those gaps, but not all of them. Game Theory maintains that Afton became obsessed with remnant energy, either to revive his children, Elizabeth and Michael, or to capture the secret of immortality all for himself. Either way, according to the videos, he doesn't find out about remnant energy until after he sees the animatronics, now possessed by the souls of the victims of the "missing child incident," walking around, meaning he was killing before finding out about remnant energy. So, why? I know everyone's pretty satisfied with the "he was just a psychopathic killer, don't read too much into it" kind of answer. But, even someone crazy has something that rationalizes their actions, so what was it? Unfortunately, I can't answer that regarding the Game Theory timeline of events, but I can try and answer it with my own version of this story. And that's what I set out to do in this chapter...or at least lay out the groundwork for it. Trust me, having your job taken over by machines is not the final straw that broke the camel's back to go start murdering people, but it does establish our killer's mentality and the key factors that motivate his later actions._
> 
> _Finally, after Help Wanted came out, despite the fact that it is telling a different story with cursed code coming to life, it does offer some small tidbits of things in the past: namely Glitchtrap's design. It's very clearly a character costume that existed pre-animatronics in the story. And honestly, while most of the FNAF characters were kind of "meh" in the scare department, Glitchtrap truly is a terrifying creation. Maybe it's just the VR experience making it feel too real, or the way he moves in his final scenes. But either way, you can tell someone truly frightening was under that mask, and I wanted to find a way to incorporate that in this story. I hope it works._


	3. Chapter 3

**From the Diary of William Afton**

_March 20, 1967_

_We finally returned from our trip to Austria. I am rather glad to be back home, but I think that Isabelle misses the stage. Austria has been her first debut on the stage since our marriage. And I have forgotten how magical it is to see that gifted dancer I fell in love with again. I’d hate to think that I am the one keeping her from her dreams, but she insists that she was ready to settle down when she married me. Seeing her face light up once more on that stage… I’m not so sure._

_But the trip was not an idle vacation for me either. I returned with a rather magnificent souvenir. European watchmakers were truly talented. They created some of the most intricate and complex machines: automata! I had to see one of these for myself. True, they were mere amusements for the aristocracy, but they were revolutionary machines for their time._

_It never ceases to amaze me how lifelike they are. True workmanship went into their insides, but beauty and artwork really went into making them seem almost human. Sometimes, these painted faces, cracked and showing wear, are unsettling on these moving figures, but then you remember just what they can do._

_I am most intrigued by those automata that perform functions such as writing and drawing. To understand how that is possible, that is the mystery I wish to solve. I was not only able to see one of these wonders, I was able to acquire one. He is aptly named Merveille. He was made by an Austrian watchmaker to be presented in French courts. He can write in two languages and draws a beautiful sketch of Boucher’s “Marriage of Cupid.” Originally, he was made to look like a French aristocrat, but he was bought by a British industrialist at the turn of the century. His outfit was changed to look more like a modern gentleman of the time. I rather like him this way. He looks so dapper in his top hat._

_His journey returned him to Austria some time ago. For the past few decades, he’s been sitting in a private collector’s home, until the collector died. With some of the last of my savings, I was able to get him at auction. Despite the financial hit this was, I do believe Merveille is the answer to my prayers. I believe he will help me get out of this creative slump._

_Recent developments in the world of audio-animatronics have made some job opportunities tempting. By learning how Merveille works, I hope to learn some secrets about the origins of more modern designs. Perhaps I can finally start my own business as I had always hoped._


	4. Chapter 4

_November 7, 1993_

“Well, Mr. Schmidt, I’m going to be honest with you,” the manager said. “You’re definitely a little too young for the kind of position we’re hiring for. However, not to sound mean, but you are the only one who has applied for this job in weeks. We’re going to have to take what we can get.”

Mike held his tongue about feeling like a last-minute pick, like leftovers out of the fridge. “I understand, sir. So, does that mean I get the job?”

The man laughed. “Yes, yes it does. And please, stop with this ‘sir’ nonsense. I manage a kid’s pizza place, for crying out loud. Jimmy will do.”

Mike wanted to roll his eyes. Jimmy clearly was the type who was trying to be the “cool” boss, despite the fact that he looked to be almost in his forties. He still had a somewhat young face, though his hair was speckled with bits of grey and a receding hairline. His smile was also a little nauseating, Mike thought. But then again, working at a place like this, you probably had to plaster a fake-looking smile on your face constantly to keep customers happy. His voice was a little annoying too, almost like he had not quite gotten through puberty. It cracked every other sentence.

“Um sure,” Mike said. “But wasn’t there something about training I needed?”

Jimmy started to stand. “Most of your training will be on the job. Our former security hand will have a plan for you. Now, come along. I should give you the grand tour.” He grinned again with those horribly crooked teeth. It made Mike shiver. This guy really did have “sketchy manager” written all over him.

The two of them walked through the restaurant. It was actually kind of deserted, save for the one small birthday going on. A few of the kids were running back and forth among the arcade games. This made Mike wonder how long this place might stay in business. Then again, it was a Sunday. Still, this restaurant had clearly seen better days. He was pretty sure the pizza grease on the arcade games had been there for years. The party decorations looked like they had been pulled out of the closet from the 80’s. And overall, the restaurant just felt old and unkempt.

“This is the main dining area, or party room. Most of the time, this should be what you keep an eye on. The games and the animatronics are what’s worth the most here.”

“Aren’t those a little heavy to just walk away with?”

Jimmy chuckled. “True, but you never know what people are willing to try. Actually, our biggest concern is vandalism. Just make sure no hoodlums get in and wreck the place. You’ll report to the security office when you get in. Everything you need will be in there, including the screen for the camera feeds. Now, over this way is the kitchens…”

Mike looked around, taking it all in. This definitely was about what he was expecting: dirty place on its last legs, small, old. If it was not for how bad he wanted a job, he would have left this kind of place immediately. Who in their right mind would want to be here?

“So, meet the gang,” Jimmy said with a sad smile as they approached the stage.

Up on the stage, the animatronic mascots stood in darkness, lifeless-looking. It was kind of unsettling, Mike thought. Something about looking at things that were supposed to move not moving felt weird. Jimmy looked at his watch. “They come on every hour on the hour. You’ve caught ‘em between shows. So, here’s Freddy.”

He pointed to the brown bear in the top hat holding the microphone. His big dopey grin with gaps in the teeth almost looked as bad as Jimmy’s smile. “We also have Bonnie and Chica.” He pointed to the purple rabbit with the guitar and the yellow chicken, as Jimmy had called it, even though it looked more like a duck to Mike. He only nodded, not really interested. Still, he could not help but feel some sense of fascination with them. But why? After all, any kid would be terrified of these horrific things that looked more like rotting roadkill.

“They look pretty beat up,” he said, his nose crinkling, “and they smell like something crawled up in them and died.”

Jimmy only hummed nervously. “Yes, well...these guys have seen a lot of wear and tear over the years, and they don’t make these particular models anymore. So, whatever is in our spare parts room is all we have. We try to use it sparingly. You know, these were some of the original ones used back with the restaurant first opened in the 70’s. They were some of the earliest models to come out of Afton Robotics.”

“God, they look like they haven’t left the 70’s. What’s behind here?”

Mike was poking around near a smaller side-stage. The curtain had been closed with an “out of order” sign placed in front of it. Mike started to draw back the curtain before Jimmy abruptly shut it.”

“That used to be a part of the show: Foxy the Pirate. Unfortunately, he’s taken the most wear and tear over the years. Poor guy had his mouth break a few weeks ago. We just don’t have the parts to fix him back up.”

“So, you’re just going to leave it there to rot?”

“Well, we’re not sure yet. Thinking of scraping him and just making space for new video games. We’ll see. Come on, we need to also get you a uniform that fits.”

Mike had noticed the ugly, purple uniforms all the employees wore during their tour. He had thought that since he was working overnight, when no customers would be in, that he would not have to wear it. Apparently, he was not avoiding that one. Well, if it got him the job…

That night, after he got home, he called Joanne.

“I don’t know,” she said after he told her everything. “They just let you have the job?”

“Hard as that is to believe,” Mike said with a hint of snark, “yes, they said I was pretty much the only candidate.”

“It’s not that I thought you couldn’t. It’s just I don’t think they can legally allow someone your age to work night shift.”

“Okay, yeah, this place does seem sketchy as hell, but if it pays…”

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble for it. What did Mark and Jenny say?”

“Mark says so long as I don’t fall behind in school, it’s fine.”

“Okay… Well, I guess, good luck tomorrow on your first day.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Oh, did I tell you what the place looks like? I can’t believe anyone goes there. Like, the animatronics are almost twenty years old, smell like it too.”

“Sounds creepy. You know, I never liked those things. My dad never could get me on amusement park rides because those things always scared me.”

“Too lifelike?”

“Yeah.”

Mike laughed. “Trust me, these aren’t very lifelike at all. They look like cartoon rejects that are falling apart at the seams. They’re just ugly.”

“Whatever, I’ll see you at school.”

Mike hung up and looked at the ugly, purple uniform hanging on his door. Was all this really worth a few extra bucks? It had better be, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A bit of a shorter one, but I'm doing some setup for some bigger things going on here. Also, updates probably won't be as fast. I now work night shifts myself as an essential worker during all the madness since my regular job no longer exists with everything shut down. It's a new schedule for me to adjust to, and most of the time, my brain is too tired to write. So, I try to at least carve out some time during the week to try and work on writing, but it'll be slow-going for a while._


	5. Chapter 5

_June 8, 1978_

The representative from Fazbear Entertainment sat down at the small desk in the office, clicking his pen. “Alright, we’d like to get this report done as soon as possible.”

He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. He hated these sad, wooden chairs they used in the offices. They really made the workers feel like dirt. “No,” he answered, “what you want is to ensure no one uses the word ‘lawsuit’ right now. So, you want to make sure we don’t say anything.”

The representative took a deep breath to regain composure. “We take the health and safety of our workers and customers very seriously at Fazbear Entertainment. An unfortunate incident such as this is extremely upsetting to us. We merely want to get all the facts straight before taking drastic action. Now, to begin, how did you know the victim?”

He shrugged. “Evan was a coworker of mine. That was about the extent of it.”

“So you two rarely communicated.”

“Honestly, maybe a few words here or there between shifts.”

The representative only made a few scribbles in his notes.” How would you describe Evan’s work?”

A new look came over his eyes. Disdain perhaps? Hatred? “Evan was...careless. He never really took the job seriously. In fact, I’d say he even hated it. No one is really thrilled to go around in a bear costume entertaining screaming kids all day.”

Except for him, he knew. It was his place to make kids smile, and idiots like Evan had to go and ruin it for everyone else.

The representative took a few more notes, grinning slightly. “You say he was careless? You mean that he didn’t take proper safety precautions seriously?”

He grimaced. These executive types were all the same, trying to find a way out of having to pay for any damages.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “It was more that he only wanted to come in, earn his pay, and get out. He never thought much of the job beyond that.”

“I see, now, in your own words, please explain to me what happened this afternoon.”

It felt weird having to think about it again. It was not so much that he had been horrified. Actually, he hardly felt anything about it. It was shocking, to be sure, but one would feel that about anything that took them by surprise.

“We were working a large birthday party. Normally, it only takes one of us to handle these sorts of things, but it was a bigger group. Needless to say, we were both a bit overwhelmed and exhausted. So, I noticed Evan was taking a short break. I noticed he had a bottle of water, but he had not taken off his springlock suit.”

“And you knew this was going to be a problem,” the representative interrupted. He seemed to be watching him closely for his answer, as if he was investigating him, not the incident.

“Yes, I was the kind of employee who bothered to read the manual when we got these new suits. I knew that water was going to be a problem. Normally, we always had time to take off the suits before we go on break. But we were busy today. By the time I spotted Evan, it was too late. I tried to stop him, but the damage was already done.

“Water must’ve splashed inside the head area. There were a few seconds of pops and then this powerful snap, like a gunshot. I couldn’t see Evan’s face under the mask, and I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t. All I saw was when the blood and...well, the inside of his head splattered out the openings. It...it wasn’t pretty. It was almost surreal. He...his body just sort of slumped over after that. Nothing else.”

The representative started taking more thorough notes as he spoke. “And what did you do after that?”

“Well, some of his...head matter was on me.”

“Did that upset you?”

He tried to read the representative’s tone before answering. It was almost as if he was the one on trial here. He did not like that feeling.

“I think I was mostly in shock. It did not really register until later, you know? Still, I at least recognized that I couldn’t just go walking through the dining room looking like that. I made my way to the back room to call for help. The manager secured the area so that none of the kids saw.”

The representative was finishing up his report. “Well, you and the manager did do everything according to protocol. It seems like everything lines up.”

“So, what happens now? The restaurant won’t close, will it?

The representative began straightening papers to put them back in his briefcase. He hardly looked at him all the while.

“Highly unlikely. We may have to shut this establishment down for a few days to get everything cleaned, but this was just an unfortunate accident. We should get everything up and running again.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. But the representative continued, “However, there have been several reports of near-accidents much like this with the hybrid suits. Afton Robotics has done some testing, and they’ve decided to recall the models.”

He tried to contain his smile. Looks like there was indeed a silver lining in all of this. Those cursed suits would be gone.

“So, I take it that we’ll be going back to the old cloth mascot suits?” He tried to mask his excitement in his tone.

The representative shook his head. “Probably not. Freddy Fazbear’s does hold a reputation of being the most advanced in children’s entertainment. Going back to such an archaic method now would hurt that reputation. Rather, we at Fazbear Entertainment have decided to go in a different direction. We will be going fully animatronic. Afton Robotics has some pretty advanced models out there that should provide all the accommodations we need.”

As quickly as his excitement had bubbled over, it now vaporized. No costumes at all?

“B-but, sir…”

He waved him off. “Now, don’t worry. We won’t be throwing you out on the streets. We always try to accommodate our loyal employees. It may mean you’ll have to work at a new position, though. I believe here they have an opening in the kitchens.”

The rest of the meeting was short after that. He hardly heard anything else. He was essentially losing his job. He would no longer be Bonnie the Bunny, not in any form. His purpose was gone. Everything was gone.

His drive home was not quiet, at least, not in his head. Everything was wrong. Stupid Evan had to always ruin everything. He never took his job seriously. He never even liked his job. And despite all of that, everyone loved his character more. Everyone loved Freddy more than Bonnie. He was the mascot, after all. But how could such a horrible person inhabit this suit. How could kids love him more when he hated kids? And what was he? Just a sidekick. He could not stand it. It was like his brother all over again. Why did everyone have to love him more? Evan deserved what he got. Good thing he was stupid. He never even saw him coming with the water. But now, even in death, Evan had to ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I debated how I wanted to handle the "springlock incident" as there never were any official details on what the incident was exactly or what happened. Still, as I was drafting out the timeline for this story, I thought this would be a nice touch to get further into the head of our killer and give readers a way to see their spiral downward._


	6. Chapter 6

**From the Diary of William Afton**

_February 25, 1969_

_There are only a handful of moments in a man’s life that change and define who he is as a man. This is one of those days. I am no longer merely a man, but now a father. My son, William Afton, Jr. was born early this morning, and I couldn’t be prouder. He is everything we had hoped. When I am not with Isabelle while she rests, I am watching him through the little window where he sleeps in his bed. Children always look so peaceful, so content with the world when they sleep._

_The hospital will release both of them tomorrow and we can begin our new life as a family. I have been trying to finish all the last-minute changes to the nursery when I can. Meanwhile, I cannot help but feel distracted by it all. It’s such a whirlwind of change all in one single moment._

_But there are still many other changes going on as well. I have completed my restoration of Merveille. I believe the lessons I have learned working with his inner mechanics might give me some inspiration for my own creations. But that will be for another time. No, what interests me is that Merveille is more than just a mere amusement. He is the key to understanding so much more._

_Upon restoring the cylinders of Merveille’s workings, I found something rather peculiar. It would seem that I am able to change some things on the cylinder, something I never thought possible, to change what it is Merveille will write. I believe it was some sort of secret code. After messing with the cylinder for a while, I was able to get Merveille to write a rather interesting message. My German is a bit rusty, and I had to turn to a friend to help me translate the message._

_It would appear that Merveille’s creator was part of a secret society of automaton makers who shared techniques and tricks with each other. Furthermore, this group liked to experiment with new ways to build their fantastic machines. However, one concept still eludes me: that of what they refer to as “remnant energy.”_

_My friend seems to believe, given the context of the message, that this creator may have been part of some modern “mystery cult” dedicated to their automata. The idea of “remnant energy,” as he says, implies something akin to a form of spiritual connection between man and machine, that this secret society may have actually believed that upon their death, their souls could be transferred to their own machines. I find that hard to believe myself, but I suppose it is no different than the hopeful messages ancient religions such as those to Dionysus or Mithras offered to their followers. But could such actually be possible? Perhaps Merveille does contain the soul of his own creator? I highly doubt it, but it does make me wonder what made these men of mechanical know-how turn to such superstitions._

_These are questions which I must ask another time. For now, more pressing matters, such as my son, take precedence. Who knows? Perhaps one day, young William might share my own interests in the wonders of robotics. But for now, he only needs the love and care a father and mother can bring him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remnant energy was a fascinating concept presented only at the very last minute in the series with very little explanation. I wanted to explore this a little through William's perspective. Since I have a background with myth and religion, I decided to look at things from that perspective. Secretive, alchemical cults like what I've described would not have been uncommon. In many ways, those who studied alchemy were not all early chemists trying to find a way to turn lead into gold. Rather, alchemy has a history as more of a philosophical persuasion, and cults and organizations dedicated to it often looked at things from a more academic perspective. Alchemy was an act of learning. So, I decided to take that angle with it. What does that mean for the rest of this story? Well, it may mean that this idea of an afterlife inside a machine could be possible, but how long will it take William to discover that, or will he be the one to discover it? You'll have to wait to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

_November 8, 1993_

Mike plopped down in the creaky rolling chair in the security guard office. It was a cramped and dusty room in the back of the restaurant. The place was still covered in cobwebs in the corner. And it was incredibly warm, even for a cool autumn night. Apparently, the room was not even hooked up to the main ventilation. All Mike had was a fan at the table. Okay, definitely not the best working conditions, he thought, but he was not expecting much from a place like this.

One of the benefits he did get was free leftover pizza from the kitchens. It was not great, but pizza was pizza after all. He had snagged a couple of slices of pepperoni and sausage before sitting. He scratched at the collar of his uniform shirt. The starched and pressed uniform was still new and itchy.

The one thing in this room that was not decrepit or falling apart was the little tablet that was meant to be used for the camera feed. Mike had honestly never seen anything like it. Fazbear Entertainment always made sure that its locations had the latest in technology, Jimmy had told him, even if the rest of the location was not up-to-date. Mike powered it on, smirking as the grainy, black-and-white footage showed the main stage with Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica on it.

“Technologically advanced, my ass,” he said. Still, he had to admit that while the video quality was terrible, the device itself was impressive. He could press buttons on the screen to see any of the security cameras.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when the phone began to ring. After about the third ring, and his heartrate had gone back to normal, did he remember that Jimmy had told him the phone would do that to play the recorded training messages from the previous security guard.

“Hello, hello?” the voice began. “Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night.”

This guy did not sound too professional. Then again, Mike thought, he himself was just a kid. And it was not like this was a top-notch, professional operation. Also, the recording had been made a week ago, according to this guy. Maybe he was glad to leave a dump like this. Lucky him, Mike thought.

The guy started trying to assure him he would be fine. Did he really expect Mike to be nervous about the job? Then again, he did not know who would have been hired for the position.

Mike had started to tune him out as he started reading off a lengthy legal statement. Corporate policy, junk like that. Jimmy had already read him all that when he signed all the paperwork to start.

But then, Mike caught something odd. “Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.”

What was that supposed to mean? Were there situations that dangerous here? And they would only “do something about it” after they had destroyed all the evidence? That could not be right, Mike thought. Hell, it surely was not legal. This guy was just messing with him, he figured. Just a joke. Some dark humor. This guy worked night shift all on his own. He probably got bored and needed to just play a dark joke for his own amusement.

But then, the strange turns kept coming. Now, he was talking about the animatronics wandering around the building. He did not listen to the technical reason for why it happened. The guy just said these things wandered around the restaurant at night! He quickly checked the cameras again. Not a one of them had moved. Mike chuckled to himself. More dark humor from this guy.

Still, he could not deny the strong sense of unease he was feeling. Maybe it was the seriousness in the guy’s tone. Maybe it was how creepy those animatronics did look. Maybe it was being here all alone. Something was making him feel on edge.

Mike had to rewind the tape back when the guy mentioned something about a bite six years ago. Lost a frontal lobe? How did this place stay open after that? Yet...he could not shake the feeling that something felt familiar about all that. But that could not be right, could it? He had never been to this place before. Maybe he remembered hearing about it on the news.

“They’ll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit.”

What? Mike started feeling dizzy now. No longer did this feel like some cruel joke. This was serious stuff. The animatronics walked around and would kill him if they spotted him? What kind of place was this?

Mike checked the cameras again. Everyone was on stage, just as they were at the start of the night. “No, no, no, this can’t be,” he said to himself. “I’m losing it.”

But then, another thought had occurred to him. He had forgotten one thing. “Foxy!” he shouted.

He flipped through the screens until he got to the feed showing Foxy’s stage. The curtains were open, but there was no broken animatronic on stage.

“Shit! This is real,” Mike shouted.

Mike jumped out of his chair and pushed the buttons near the two doors in the room, causing them to lock. He went back to the cameras. “Okay, where are you?” he muttered, trying to sound tough to steady his nerves.

He practically fell over when he saw a blur dash past one of the hallway cameras, but he hardly had time to react to that. Immediately after he saw the camera, he heard banging and scraping against the door. It was an ear-splitting screech, like metal scraping against metal, like a hook, he realized.

“This is real,” he said again. “Oh, my god, this is real. These things are out to kill me.”

“I’ll chat with you tomorrow,” the guy on the phone said, still droning on. “Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary.”

“Yeah, no shit!” Mike yelled back. He knew he could not hear him, but something about yelling made him feel better.

“Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night.” The phone clicked off.

“Wait...power?”

He noticed that the little tablet displayed a power usage and a power percentage. He still had well over half his power, but he noticed he seemed to be using a lot. “Wait, the doors are part of the limited battery? That’s stupid.”

But stupid as it was, he knew that if he had any chance of getting throught the night, he would have to open the doors. Mike swallowed hard. The scraping sound had stopped, but that did not mean that something could be waiting for him on the other side of the doors. He checked the cameras again. The three other animatronics were still on the stage. Foxy had somehow wandered back to his spot.

Legs quivering, he opened the doors again, turned on the hallway lights for a second, just to be sure, and collapsed back into his chair.

This was madness, he told himself, a living nightmare. Every logical part of him told him this could not be real, yet there it was. These things, these robots were out for blood, and he was a sitting duck, destined to be their next victim. No, not now, not ever. He would survive this. He was not going to go down without a fight.

Fight with what, though? All he had at his disposal were the doors to keep them at bay, and there was no telling how long they would wait for him. Still, it was better than nothing. Survival was all he had at this point.

“Alright, you bastards, I’m waiting,” he said to himself, trying to build up what little courage he had left.

He studied the cameras all night, waiting and watching for their next move. For the rest of the night, things stayed quiet. He noticed Bonnie had moved to the dining area after the stage camera glitched out. “How are you doing that?” Mike muttered to himself.

There were a lot of questions Mike had about this whole situation, and none of the answers made sense. Why was this happening? Mike certainly did not believe the whole “servos locking up” excuse. Why did they bide their time with him? There were four of them and only one of him. They could have easily ambushed him by now. How did they mess with the cameras? There was something odd about that. But more importantly, why did this all feel familiar? Some part of this lingered in his mind. Some part of him felt like he should remember this, should remember this place, should remember these characters. It was something about that guy on the phone, he eventually realized. Did he know him? It was hard to tell with a voice alone.

The night passed agonizingly slow, but at last, he heard his watch beep as it got to six o’clock, the end of his shift. It was not long after that that he heard Jimmy opening the doors and turning on the store lights.

Mike crawled out from his spot under the desk. He saw Jimmy coming down the hall, a rather surprised look on his face. “Ah, Mike, my boy,” he said. “Well, I see you’re still up. Surprised your first night shift wasn’t too hard on you.”

“Oh, it was hard enough,” Mike said, already feeling the rant he had been practicing all night coming on. “I’ve got a few things to say about this place. Just what do you people mean by these animatronics wandering around at night?”

Jimmy nervously straightened his tie. “Oh...that. Well, I thought Fritz explained on the phone. It’s a technical thing. I don’t know all the mumbo-jumbo, but we have to let them do that at night or they lock up during the day.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, and I suppose their murderous tendencies are just standard procedure as well?”

“That’s a programming thing. We haven’t been able to contact him in years to fix that problem. Look, if you feel like this job is not for you, I understand. We would have to arrange for you to sign a non-disclosure agreement, though.”

Mike was about to take up the offer. He should quit, get out of here while he still could. That would be the smart, and more importantly safe, thing to do. It would be easy. His life was not worth a few extra bucks.

But something stopped him. It was that same feeling he had earlier about everything feeling familiar. There was a mystery here, one that was nagging at him. Leaving now would never help him figure it out.

“Actually, I’ll be in tomorrow night,” he said. “I know what to prepare for now.”

This seemed to shock him more. “Um...yes, well, see you tonight when you come in,” Jimmy said. “We really appreciate your hard work.”

As Mike walked out the door, he stopped at the stage where Freddy still stood, a dopey smile on his face.

“You hear that, you fuzzy bastard? I’m comin’ for ya,” Mike taunted before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry this one took a while. I had a challenge piece that needed worked on during June and July, and that took up most of my time. Still, new update, so yay! I also have a link on my profile page to a Trello board where you can see just what I'm working on at any given time. Whatever is on my "Currently Working On" list is what I've got as the current top-priority. Now that this chapter is finished, I work on another WIP until the next time this story comes up on the rotation. Looking forward to continuing the updates for this story._


	8. Chapter 8

**From the Diary of William Afton**

_May 2, 1972_

_I think “success” isn’t quite the right word to describe today. “Triumph” is more like it. It took several years, but I was able to do it. I have made walking animatronics! These aren’t just animatronics that walk on a track. No, I was not ready to settle for just that. These can roam free, walk as we do. They can go anywhere._

_I was able to figure out a way to put the main working components inside the animatronic, rather than below it, like many typical models. That was no easy feat. Even after studying the working parts of Merville, I realized that this would not be a simple task. It required me to look into how to make everything smaller and more compact. Given how many movements I wanted these things to be able to do, that took some ingenuity. I will need to apply for a patent for the circuit board I had to develop to make it possible. It’s definitely a trade secret I’m going to want to keep to myself._

_Still, what matters most is that it looks believable and that it is entertaining. Young William seems to think so. Of course, perhaps it is because I made the animatronic to look like his favorite teddy bear. Yet, it brought me such joy to see his face light up at the sight of it. I hope my creation will be able to bring that same joy to people of all ages._

_And I might be able to make that dream a reality. I have been approached by an entertainment company who was impressed by my more typical animatronics. Fazbear Entertainment isn’t quite on the level of world-class amusement parks, but they do seem like they are willing to consider innovative new techniques like what I have achieved. I cannot wait to show them this latest development._

_Speaking of Merville...I have been doing more research on the secret society his creator was a part of. I was correct in hypothesizing that they somehow believed that they could transfer their dying spirits into their machines. During my search, I was able to uncover some notes taken by one of these inventors. While rudimentary, and certainly muddled in superstition, I do believe this society may have been onto something. I believe that with today’s modern technology, and a little bit of risk-taking, we may yet be able to learn how to transfer one’s consciousness to machines, thereby attaining a sort of immortality. Do not get me wrong, I love my work with animatronics, but this might be something worth studying. Not for now. I must celebrate my success today._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a little different from the order I was going in at the start. If I had continued on the pattern, I would have had a chapter from the killer's perspective that intersected with a diary entry from William in an odd place. So, to make the timing and the reveals work out the way I want them to, I had to rethink some of the ordering for this story. So, this time, we get another diary entry.
> 
> I had to do a little work on this one, at least from a research perspective. The majority of automata and animatronics out there actually have the major working parts down below the body. Most of what we see riding a ride or looking at an animatronic is the main structure of the figure, used for appearances. The actual parts that are running, the "engine" of the machine is actually outside of the animatronic. Still, it seems that we are making progress. Have you seen the new Beauty and the Beast animatronics in Japan? Those look pretty darn lifelike and have more movement than I've ever seen in animatronics. Still, they need to move and run on a track because the main systems exist below the figure. So, that was one aspect of the whole "they used to walk around in the day" thing that made things tricky, at least from a real-world perspective. But, I'll give Afton credit where credit is due. In the FNAF world, it's not hard to assume that Afton/Henry/whoever is a genius in the creation of these animatronics.
> 
> Also, it was fun to come back to the concept of remnant energy again. Actually, it isn't that far off from the kinds of things science is trying to achieve. Preserving consciousness in machines is something we've thought about and tried to explore. It doesn't work...obviously, but it is a part of humankind's dream for immortality, and Afton may be closer to it than he realizes.


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